Post-Disaster Acceleration
by Vivere Sine Timore
Summary: Something had come over her. Not quite confidence, but something similar enough. They all had had a roller coaster of a day. But everyone had come out the other side of it unscathed, somehow, and if there had ever been a sign that now was the time to speak up, that was it. Set during the season 3 finale.


_Man, it has been a while since I wrote anything for Psych. And honestly I didn't think I ever would again. But all of a sudden here I am, procrastinating on grad school work by rewatching the entire series (as well as Designator Survivor because I'm absolute trash for any sort of political drama, which is actually where the title comes from) and falling deep into binge watch mode. Inspiration just kind of struck while I was watching the Season 3 finale. So, I hope you enjoy this._

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It was a sad fact of life that Juliet O'Hara had never been quite as eloquent as she wanted to be.

It was one of the few weaknesses she had. While Ewan picked up their mother's talent of being able to get his point across with only a few words and Callum had been fortunate enough to inherit their father's charm, Juliet had somehow ended up with neither.

It wasn't that she wasn't bright; her grades all through school were proof enough of that. It was simply that she often didn't know what to say in the heat of the moment. She would try her hardest, but it was when she replayed conversations in her head later that she remembered everything else she meant to say. She had hoped to grow out of it, but here she was in her mid-twenties still struggling with it.

It was why, though she would never admit to it, she was grateful that Carlton always did most of the talking. He never seemed to second guess what he said. He was like Ewan in that way. A small part of her was jealous of the both of them. In a perfect world, she thought, she wouldn't have to be jealous of them. Her ideal self would have no issues getting the words she wanted to say out and they would have her intended effect. She would not regret saying something, or regret not saying something.

Walking through the door to her dark apartment alone, she was feeling regret about both. She kicked off her shoes, threw her purse on the couch, and then simply stood in the foyer at a loss for what to do next.

She had waited too long. She should have said something sooner, and she knew it. But the thought of it had always terrified her so much. Opening her mouth and saying those words seemed like such a big step, and each time she meant to do it she always thought of another reason to wait. And now it didn't matter.

How long had it taken her to even muster up the courage to walk into the concession stand? He must have been in there for a good five minutes before she managed to slip inside, somehow failing to notice Abigail lingering by the corner of the building.

(Maybe if she had noticed the other woman though, she would have connected the dots and not embarrassed herself so badly.)

It had taken him a second to notice her against the back wall. He'd said her name in surprise, and she'd nearly run back out the door right then. It was only his ramblings about Mr. Yang and Necco wafers that had kept her from panicking completely.

And then something had come over her. Not quite confidence, but something similar enough. She had had a roller coaster of a day. And if her day had been long, she could only imagine what his experience had been like. But everyone had come out the other side of it unscathed, somehow, and if there had ever been a sign that now was the time to speak up, that was it.

So, she said what she had come to say. And she stumbled horribly through her speech. It occurred to her more than once that had their roles been reversed, Shawn would have been able to do a much better job than she was doing, and that his words wouldn't have come out so tangled up. But she kept talking anyway, searching for the right words as she went and hoping for the best. And by some miracle she managed to get out the words she'd been meaning to say for God knows how long. Some of them had even sounded almost poetic. She had been so proud.

Juliet poured herself a glass of wine and leaned heavily against the counter as she sipped it. She had imagined this night going very differently, if she was being honest. She had been so sure that he was going to say yes. They would have gone to a late dinner and maybe it would have been awkward at first, but then something would have changed, and it would have become effortless for both of them.

God, she had actually been proud of herself. She thinks Shawn knew that, too. He tried his best to soften the blow, with his own effortless charisma that usually disarmed her completely. And what was worse was that she thought he was going to say yes when he first started talking.

But then, as she had, he kept talking and it had felt like a sucker punch to the stomach. Actually, looking back, she thinks she really did stop breathing for a few seconds. It was the only explanation she had for why she had felt so dizzy and disoriented as she heard him tell her that Abigail was waiting for him.

The wine was suddenly bitter on her tongue and she threw the rest of it down her sink. She wanted to hate Abigail. She wanted to be angry with her and wish death upon her and scream about how Abigail had stolen from her.

But beside the fact that Juliet was _too damn nice_ to wish death on even the worst criminal, she just didn't blame Abigail at all. Was she jealous of her? Sure. Did she wish she herself was on that date? Absolutely. But that wasn't Abigail's fault. It wasn't even Shawn's fault. It was her own.

His cheek had been so warm. She hadn't wanted to pull away, ever. She wanted to relish in the feeling of his soft skin under her lips, his stubble prickling at her chin. When she had finally stepped back, she thought that maybe he'd stopped breathing for a second as well. She wished it had been enough. She had had one moment of hopefulness as she was leaving when he had called out to her. And when he apologized for snapping at her, and she heard what he really meant, she thought maybe he wished it was enough, too.

She wondered what they were doing now. How long had it taken her to get home? She couldn't be sure. Maybe the movie was over already, and they were deciding where they would go next. Maybe they'd get an extremely late dinner and talk and have a nice time. Maybe they'd go for a stroll on the boardwalk at midnight. Maybe they'd kiss under the moon, next to the ocean, with the wind ruffling their hair and making everything ten times more romantic.

Juliet pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. Tried to stamp down the overwhelming wave of jealousy that was building up in her chest, threatening to come out as either a scream or a sob. She was not allowed to be jealous. She wouldn't let herself. She had had so many chances to tell him how she felt and, like an idiot, she hadn't taken any of them. If Shawn was happy, then she had to let him be happy.

Because if she didn't she'd never be able to live with herself. His happiness mattered to her. She couldn't pretend it didn't. She wouldn't let this come between them, especially because of how frequently they worked together. If she let herself be petty and hurt, even for a little, she couldn't see how it wouldn't affect their relationship. And she really didn't want to lose him.

Despite the late hour, she felt wide awake and restless. Without thinking she grabbed her gun and her stopwatch. Her hands moved on autopilot. Good thing, too. Her mind was too full to concentrate on the motions of disassembling and reassembling her gun. Why had she thought telling him how she felt was a good idea? And why now, as opposed to any other time? What had made tonight so different?

What was it that Ewan had called it once? She could only recall that it had sounded ridiculous, and much more fun than it actually was. Something about how traumatic events made people reevaluate their lives. It was why there were always so many marriages, divorces, and babies born in the months following disasters. Tonight certainly qualified as a traumatic event. She supposed she sounded like a textbook case.

Juliet set her gun back on her coffee table. She would have to let him go. That was the only solution. She did not have a right to him, and he had chosen. She had to respect that. The thought knocked the wind out of her again. She wished her night had gone according to plan. But Shawn was too damn nice, too, and she knew he wasn't about to just abandon Abigail so he could chase after her. Therefore, she had to take herself out of the equation.

She leaned forward to brace her elbows against her knees, resting her chin in her folded hands. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and let all of her memories and emotions wash over her. And then, one by one, she tried to let go.


End file.
